Samsara
by YellowDancer
Summary: They are chained to the wheel of rebirth, doomed to continue repeating the same pattern until the end of time. But only one of them is burdened with the memory of every repetition and he has refused to perpetuate the cycle. Eventual LxZ.
1. Ignorance

**Author's Note: This story doesn't take place in any specific Zelda game. I am assuming that the Windwaker is the last game chronologically and this story would take place after it. The name and chapter titles are all based on Buddhist beliefs surrounding reincarnation--something that I think fits all too perfectly with the Zelda universe. Each chapter is named loosely after one of the links in the chain that keep souls bound to the wheel of death and rebirth.**

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**Chapter One: **

**Ignorance  
(Avidya)**

The sprawling city seemed to acquire a new layer of grime each time he visited it, the cobbled streets a little dustier and the cheap new buildings on the outskirts of town a little tackier than the ones built before. The kingdom of Hyrule had traditionally been a center of wealth and prosperity—a temptation to any angry usurper who had the will to attempt claiming it for his own—but even when it was ruled by a dictator, it had never before been this dirty.

Doran smiled, a twisted line of bitterness traversing his broad face. Centuries had passed since the last tyrant had threatened the arrogant kingdom and it had been even longer since the hated Ganondorf had attempted to claim it. The world had been little more than a vast ocean at that time specked with minuscule islands, and the coveted land of Hyrule had been nothing more than a lost city buried leagues beneath the sea.

In time the world had dried, the waters had receded and Hyrule had once again seen the light of day, but the sun had continued to cruelly blaze down upon the exposed land until it withered and grew parched. Ironically, the land of Hyrule now resembled the wasteland of the infamous Ganondorf's birth, and while some prayed for the return of the fabled Hero to save their dying land, others whispered that perhaps the ancient evil had finally succeeded in cursing Hyrule.

Doran personally liked to think of the misfortune as a kind of justice, a belated punishment for the peoples' arrogance and complacency. None of them had ever lifted a finger to save their kingdom, after all. They relied instead on the myth of some legendary Hero who would do all the dirty work and save their worthless asses once again. He found their fragile hope pathetic. Shouldn't they be doing something to save themselves rather than relying on a futile dream? How many of them would die before they realized that their Hero might not be coming to save them?

His wry smile deepened and he hoisted his pack more securely against his broad back. Only a few travelers were scattered across the country road, a fact for which he was grateful. Focusing on simply putting one dusty boot in front of the other, he squinted into the rising sun and felt his smile fading when he focused on the silhouette of the castle spires thrusting up into the golden fabric of the sky like knives. He hadn't come near the capitol for several years, preferring to travel instead among the outlying districts and distant towns in an attempt to ease the inevitable weight of history.

While the land had been transformed drastically by all the ecological shifts, the great castle itself had remained relatively unchanged over the centuries, and seeing it looming on the horizon always made him uneasy. The castle was the fulcrum of the mythology, the symbol of Hyrule and the center of its power—and also the battleground where countless struggles over the possession of that power had taken place.

"Watch your step." The man ahead of him scowled back over his shoulder when Doran inadvertently stepped on his boot heel. The man immediately recoiled, frowning at Doran's sun baked skin and angular features, his eyes snagging on the shock of red hair and widening. Looking away quickly, the man muttered something to his wife about foreigners.

"Let him pass," his wife whispered, her voice pitched low, but not low enough to escape Doran's sensitive hearing. "I'd feel safer with more distance between us and him."

Doran's smile was a crack across his craggy face, probably only enhancing his formidable appearance. He was weary of the unfounded suspicions, but the insults were too frequent for them to cause him any real pain. Let them fear him if they wished. At times he wondered if the peoples Hyrule were bred for exactly that purpose. In the past, the thought had brought him joy. Now, he simply smiled and kept walking. Joy was an emotion for the short lived, an impermanent sensation experienced by those with youth still dwelling inside of them; he had died to such things long ago, and for many long years only hatred had remained. But after so much time even that had turned into nothing but an empty emotion worn thin by repetition. He had allowed the wheel to turn several times unhindered over the centuries, his stale hatred no longer enough to sustain his ambition, and he sensed it turning again, the cycle bound to repeat itself.

In his travels, he had heard rumors that the old king was dying and that his only male heir was being groomed for the role of succession. The fact that a male heir existed at all eased Doran's mind, for he had been concerned ever since he heard that the firstborn daughter had been named Zelda, a name he had rarely heard without hearing the name of the dreaded Ganondorf in the same breath. She was named after the princess in the ancient stories and Doran found the choice to be in poor taste. Clearly, even the king had been clinging to the hope of that illusory savior, a weakness which made Doran even more convinced of his poor ruling abilities.

But the name had stirred old memories, and real anger was growing within him at Hyrule's dearth of motivation to save itself and reliance on mere hope when what it truly needed was action. Watching the arrogant kingdom fall apart piece by piece was satisfying in its own way, but even that had failed to continue amusing him.

Perhaps it was time for him to settle in the capitol and keep a closer eye on the balance of power. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. Not anymore.

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**Note: For anyone who is interested, the name Doran means "stranger" or "exile" in Irish.**

**I've added a few twists to the story--like the male heir--but hopefully you can guess at Doran's true identity fairly easily.**


	2. Choices

**Chapter Two: **

**Choices  
(Samskara)**

He had noticed that she liked to walk among the people from time to time—camouflaged, of course, as one of them. Some of the citizens must have seen through her disguise, those older and wiser bowing to her while indulging her fantasy, but most of them simply passed her by, too busy with their own lives to pay her any mind.

He couldn't help watching her whenever he caught sight of her, the familiar anger stirring in his chest dully, though he no longer had the will to act on it. Truly, her common clothes and the scarf wrapped around her head did little to hide the regal intensity of her brilliant blue eyes or the perfection of her flawless ivory skin, and he laughed inwardly at her naive attempts to hide herself. Her curiosity drove her, he knew, that drive to understand and learn—and by learning becoming wise. The pattern never changed, only the details.

The square was crowded; musicians, children, lovers and the elderly alike wading through the tangled mass of people, but she immediately stood out despite her slight form. He caught sight of her as he was bringing an empty box out to the front stoop of his shop, stacking it next to the others he had emptied that morning. The store was nearly completed, though he was unable to feel even the slightest satisfaction at the accomplishment. A subtle dread had settled in his mind ever since his decision to stay in the capitol, as if the decision was the first step on his path to submission; by deciding to pay attention again to the world around him, he had allowed fate to interfere with his life and begin slowly pushing him toward his cruel destiny.

She noticed him watching her—as she had noticed when she had come to the square the day before—and he smiled grimly, knowing that she was drawn to him in the same way that their souls were always drawn together generation after generation. Though she had no way of understanding the strange attraction between them, her insatiable curiosity wouldn't allow her to simply ignore it.

Gently parting the waves of people with her presence, she began making her way toward him.

Doran crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a post supporting the roof, waiting to see what kind of amusement she would offer today. She encountered a shady character before she could break free of the press of people, and he immediately caught the furtive movement of the man's hand toward the coin purse secured at her belt. Exclaiming loudly in protest, she boldly caught the thief's arm and tried to pull him backward. Her efforts held him back for a moment as she threw all of her weight into the exertion, grasping desperately at him as he tried to twist away.

She couldn't have wanted for the money. It must have been the injustice that inspired her rage. Doran watched her struggle without emotion, his smile widening when he saw her look back in his direction again in a plea for aid.

Finally, the thief escaped with her purse, and she threw her arms up in frustration, glaring at the unseeing crowd around her. He imagined that she was enraged more by the way her citizens turned a blind eye on a person in trouble than by the loss of a few rupees. Shaking his head, he turned away from the tableau and began stacking more boxes. She was wise to recognize her people's complacency as a flaw, but he doubted that she would do anything more productive to right the wrong than her ancestors had done before her.

He should have known that she would target him with the full force of her outrage, but he attempted to ignore her huff of annoyance and attempt at an imposing figure when she planted her hands on shapely hips and furrowed her pale brows. "You saw everything!" she snapped at him. "I saw you watching it all, but you did nothing! You just stood there and laughed at a woman in need!"

Chuckling under his breath and depositing another box at the top of the stack, he dusted off his hands and replied, "It's not my fault that you're weak."

Her slender shoulders tensed and her eyes spit blue fire. "How dare you?"

Though he had no desire to interact with her, he had to admit that her outrage amused him more than anything else had managed to do in recent memory. "Perhaps you should whine to your brother instead, Princess. He will soon be in a better position to do something about that thief than I am."

"My brother is a fool," she scoffed. "And if you recognize me for who I am, then you have even less justification for ignoring my plight."

He was surprised to hear that she was aware of her brother's unsuitability for the throne, though he wondered what, if anything, she would do to oppose it. In the short time that he had been in the city, he had already heard dozens of stories about the king-to-be's raucous parties and lazy disposition. "A princess wandering about a dangerous city unprotected gets what she is asking for," he said succinctly as he turned back into his shop.

"What is your name?" she demanded as she followed him inside, leather soles slapping against the polished wooden floor with flippant steps.

"Why do you want to know?" He hefted another box with a wry smile. "Do you intend to have me arrested? I would remind you that if you are going to arrest me on the basis of my inaction, you should rightfully imprison half of the crowd out there as well. You have no right to single me out simply because I am not so cowardly as to avert my eyes like the rest of them."

"If it wasn't cowardice that held you back, then why else would you refuse to come to my aid?"

"Do I need a reason? I am not a soldier and I have no obligation to defend you against thieves."

Standing squarely in the doorway, she blocked his path and said with narrowed eyes, "You are a foreigner living in our city. I would think that you would appreciate our kindness in letting you set up shop here. You may not have an obligation to defend me, but I would think that you would not want to put your welcome here in jeopardy."

"Is that a threat?" His eyebrow raised and anger flared hotly in his chest at her presumption. "I would have thought someone as noble as you to be above such shallow biases."

A blush colored her cheeks and her jaw clenched.

He moved toward the door again and she stumbled aside numbly before he had to push her, a stunned expression on her face as she stared at an unremarkable smudge on the floor. She was still standing in the same spot when he returned, her brows drawn together into a regal frown.

"If you are finished haranguing me, I would suggest that you find an escort and return to the castle before you are further inconvenienced by the dregs of society."

She flinched. "I apologize for my rudeness," she said in a fragile voice. "I overreacted. You have done nothing wrong, and I have no right to punish you for the failings of others."

Leaning back against the counter and regarding her, he crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips, savoring the irony of the moment. Her naiveté was not surprising, though it seemed that her arrogant air of superiority had more to do with her upbringing than her personal inclinations; unless the wheel had taken a drastic turn this time around, she was not the type to judge someone based solely upon appearance.

She seemed to be waiting for a response—perhaps for an acceptance of her apology—but he had no desire to ease her discomfort. Watching him in awkward silence, she drew a slow breath and glanced back at the open door and the slanting afternoon light that poured in through the opening.

"It will be dark soon," he said coldly. "You should leave if you want to make it back to the castle before nightfall."

Nodding reluctantly, she cast a worried glance back at him before turning to walk stiffly through the door. The realization that he had no intention of relieving her guilt seemed to weigh heavily on her narrow shoulders, and the satisfaction was enough to warm the embers of his long frozen heart. She stepped back into the square with a watchfulness in her posture that had been absent before, and she navigated the vortex of people with nothing of her previous regal air.

Turning to go back into his shop, he frowned when he saw a large man step out of the shadows and begin to follow her, a dark insignia woven into his cloak that Doran recognized as the emblem of an obscure cult native to the region north of the capitol. The man had an ill-favored aura, and it didn't take much stretch of the imagination for Doran to conclude that he was an assassin sent by the disgruntled ruler from that realm.

Hesitating on the threshold of his shop, he watched the dark man melt into the crowd behind her like an ominous shadow. If the assassin was successful, then he could be certain that the impending doom he felt gathering would not have to involve him. But the words of the oracle he had encountered on his recent journey came back to him clearly despite his frequent attempts to forget her words.

"_I have the answers you seek, traveler!" the old woman cried, piercing golden eyes flashing from beneath her deep cowl. _

_He barely paused in his progress down the street, but her next words caused his boots to root to the ground without his notice._

"_You are bound by a destructive cycle, chained to the wheel of samsara. You wish to break free," she continued, blinking fervently up at him from a mass of wrinkles, the hot sun revealing her hidden face as she peered up at him. "I know how! I know how to stop the wheel from turning!" _

"_How to escape the cycle?" he repeated with a dark chuckle. "That is impossible."_

"_You already understand that winning is not the answer. You have won before...for a time. But it never lasted in the end. The answer has nothing to do with triumph or defeat."_

_Shaking his head, he turned away and began to pace down the street again. _

"_The triforce is losing its power," she stated suddenly, shocking him so much that he spun around to face her. "The cycle cannot continue any longer. Something must change, or this world will die. You have seen the slow decay. Each generation is born weaker than the one before, and your precious desert claims more land every year. Your triumph is happening before your eyes, but it is not yours to claim. Victory is meaningless if it leaves nothing alive to endure it."_

_He came to a stop in the dirty street again and gave her his full attention at that. "What is the answer, then, sage?"_

"_The triforce must be reunited."_

_A guffaw escaped his mouth before he retorted, "That has happened already—countless times. In the end it has never made any real difference."_

"_In order for the triforce to be truly reunited, it must be free of its hosts. Between cycles, the forces of wisdom and courage roam freely, existing as pure energy unconfined to any one being. But the force of power is always constrained by the one person who has never been reborn."_

"_Are you saying I must die?"_

_Her smile sent shivers down his spine. "You must balance the scales and atone for your sins."_

He had not wanted to understand what those words meant at the time, but he felt the power within him rising now as he watched the dark man disappear around the corner behind Zelda. The path the triforce wanted him to take was clear--but it rankled. And yet, he was so very weary of the cycle. He wanted so badly to break free that even his pride could not stand in his way any longer.

He could stand by and watch a thief take advantage of her, but an assassination was another matter entirely. The broadsword was in his hand and he was parting the crowd with his angry presence before he realized that he had submitted to the will of the power within him. Fate demanded that he act; playing the role of a bystander had never settled well with him, but it had been the only way he had known to avoid the painful repetition of events. But if action was required, then perhaps he could only unravel the cycle by working counter to the pull of destiny and reversing the pattern.

His long strides brought him around the corner in time to see the assassin pull a knife from his belt. Zelda was looking away as the man approached her, but Doran was able to dart through the crowd from the opposite side and pull her out of the way before the assassin could land his blade in her back. A cry escaped her lips and she gazed up at him with wide eyes when she saw the sword in his hand.

Doran felt the power within him stirring as it sensed the fragment of the triforce within Zelda and he crushed her against him compulsively when she began to panic, not willing to risk her doing anything rash until the danger was dealt with.

The assassin gaped at him in shock for a moment, the blade still naked in his hand and Doran raised his own blade between Zelda and the man. "You have made a fatal error," he said darkly as he glared at the man.

A woman in the crowd shrieked suddenly and the throng backed away from them in a rush, finally drawing the attention of the soldiers down the street. Casting uncertain glances at the fearful gazes around him, the assassin sheathed his knife and took off at a run. Doran did not ease his grip on Zelda's waist until the man was out of sight with a handful of soldiers hot on his heels.

"Princess," one of the soldiers said with a doubtful glare at Doran, hanging back to ensure her safety. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, her skin ghostly pale as she said, "I think so." Brushing herself off when Doran released her, she looked up at him with a confused mess of emotion in her eyes. "You saved my life," she said faintly. "Thank you."

Doran chuckled wryly. "I need your thanks even less than your apology, Princess." Sheathing his sword, he turned away. "But do try to be more careful on your way back to the castle."

"Please," she cried. "Who are you?"

"I'm no one," he replied. "A stranger."

"Do I not even get a name?"

"Doran," he said finally. "You can call me Doran." That was the name he had chosen for himself when he had decided not to pursue his old habits—when he had chosen to do whatever he could to break the endless ritual.

He felt her watching him as he walked away, and he closed his eyes briefly, wondering exactly what he had set in motion by saving her. The threads of fate tugged at him furiously, trying to realign the cycle to its fated pattern, and yet he could feel the triforce of power burning inside of him with an odd sort of satisfaction he had never experienced before. He knew that had made the first step, but the road would be long.


	3. Awareness

**Author's Note: And so Link finally makes his entrance...enjoy.**

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**Chapter Three**

**Awareness  
(Vijnana)**

The bell clamored as the door opened for the dozenth time that afternoon, and Doran frowned at the counter before him. While he knew he should have been grateful for the business, few of the customers had actually bought anything, and half of them had been unable to see past his unusual features in order to even browse his shop. He might have been offended if he hadn't found their ridiculously overwrought reactions to be so amusing. And he knew that his goods were rare enough that he could get by with only selling a handful of items a week anyway.

"I'll be with you in a moment," he said crisply without looking up from the sword he was polishing, seeing no reason to be polite when his customers never were.

The customer entered, catching the door to prevent it from clanging noisily shut behind him. He did not respond to the greeting or make any noise at all other than a few soft footfalls as he crossed the room, but something in Doran's chest clenched suddenly and quite unexpectedly at his approach causing him to glance up sharply. He recognized the sensation immediately and felt the fate pull him inexorably along his usual course, hatred bubbling up inside of him like a geyser from a parched spring.

Dusty blond hair shadowed a chiseled, youthful face so delicate it could have belonged to a female. The boy's bright blue eyes scanned the shop in awe, sincerity in its purest form peering out of those orbs as he smiled with a childlike innocence and approached the counter.

Unable to hold back a sneer, Doran's hands tightened on the blade he had been polishing. He realized now that he had been secretly hoping that the Hero would not appear in time—that he might not have fulfilled all of the obligations in his previous life that would allow him to be reborn in time for the next loop of their ritual. Zelda had awakened Doran's anger, but it was Link who caused his hatred to burn again as if it had never died away. How many times had this naïve fool destroyed all of his plans by mere chance?

He was weary of the game, and yet part of him hungered for one last try. It was habit, he knew. But how could he look at his frustratingly pure nemesis without wishing for the ability to destroy him? Link's ignorance of their history only made the loathing that much harder to ignore. Every time he was forced to look this fresh, young fool in the eyes and know that he would have a tireless vitality that could only come from the ability to wash his soul clean with every turning of the wheel. Doran had experience on his side, but his weariness shackled him further with every iteration of the cycle.

"Can I help you?" Doran asked through gritted teeth.

"I'm looking for a shield," the young man said with an unassuming smile.

Doran's eyes sharpened as he noticed the hilt of the sword peeking up over one green-clad shoulder; he didn't have to study it long to make sense of the carving on the pommel. How long at the boy been on his journey already if he had discovered that sword?

"How is this?" Doran asked, pulling a wooden shield off of the shelf behind him. The crest of Hyrule was carved into the surface and the wood was polished to a fine sheen, but Link's eyes only grazed it before looking back up at the shelf.

"How much for that one?" he asked, pointing at the heavy shield that Doran had been hoping to avoid giving him, if only to make his quest a fraction more difficult.

Glancing up at the shield and back to the bright eyes blinking at him guilelessly, Doran said, "Five hundred rupees."

The boy nodded briefly and reached for the coin purse hanging from his belt.

Doran raised an eyebrow as the boy counted out his payment, wondering if he was spending all of his money on this one item. If he had been honest, he should have charged him less—or the boy should have at least made an attempt to haggle with him—but Link was not one to question anyone's motives until they had proven themselves a threat. The fact that he had managed to survive long enough to defeat him in the past was all the more stunning considering his gullible nature.

"Thank you," Link smiled as he took up the shield triumphantly and fastened it on his back along with the sword.

"That's some serious equipment for someone so inexperienced," Doran noted cuttingly. "You're liable to lop off an arm with a blade like that."

Link gave him a sidelong glance as he tightened the strap that traversed his chest and held the weaponry in place, a hint of suspicion entering his eyes.

Before he could respond, the bell rang loudly and the door opened again to admit the third member of their eternal dance. "Master Doran!" Zelda cried as she entered, drawing back only when she saw Link standing next to the counter.

Ever since his uncharacteristically selfless gesture on her behalf, Zelda had begun visiting his shop regularly—though her father no longer allowed her to wander the streets of the city without a retinue of soldiers. She would purchase various items—though he was certain she had no need of them—and exchange news with him as if they were friends. Because he had accepted what he had to do in regards to her, he allowed her to believe that he had forgiven her and refrained from pushing her away. He was beginning to have reservations now that he understood how much he still had to sacrifice before he could be free of the cycle.

Doran had been so distracted by Link that he hadn't even sensed her approaching, but now he could feel the Triforce humming through his veins in response to their proximity just as he had sensed Link's true identity. Covering his hand as he saw a faint glimmer beginning to glow on his skin, he watched Zelda as she focused on Link, her lips parting slightly and one of her hands clenching in her skirts. Link was clearly just as uncomfortable, a faint blush coloring his cheeks and his eyes wide as he regarded her. They were nearly the same age this time around, and Doran could tell that they were feeling more than the insistent pull of the Triforce between them.

Returning her gaze to Doran though her eyes periodically found their way back to Link, she crossed the room. "Have you heard what's happened?" she asked, clutching her white-gloved hands before her.

Doran inclined his head, frowning as Link continued to stare rather boldly at the princess, his hands frozen on the strap across his chest.

"Kakariko village has burned to the ground," Zelda continued and Link flinched, looking down at his feet. Doran found the reaction odd and wondered if the boy had already been aware of the incident.

"Any idea what happened?" he asked.

"There were marks scrawled over the doors that looked exactly like the insignia that the assassin who attacked me had been wearing."

"There are also foul creatures in the north," Link offered in a quiet voice, "and the bridge has been destroyed."

Zelda blinked at him in surprise and they exchanged another uncomfortably intense gaze.

"How do you know all of that, boy?" Doran asked gruffly, only barely restraining the temptation to roll his eyes when they both jumped.

Link swallowed uncertainly and said, "I came from a village north of Kakariko. It was attacked by the creatures and I was sent to carry word to the king."

Her eyes glowing with a sickening ray of hope, Zelda regarded Link more closely, her gaze passing thoughtfully over his weapons and green tunic. Doran knew she was wondering if Link was the legendary Hero reborn again and he hated that she was right. The people of Hyrule had been waiting desperately for their fabled Hero, and against all odds they had gotten him. But it seemed that this time another conqueror was the enemy since Doran had refused to play the game.

The door slammed back against the wall and the bell crashed loudly. "Princess!" a soldier cried with a panicked expression as he stepped into the store. "We need to return to the castle at once. Your brother has been kidnapped!"

"P-princess?" Link colored again and looked away.

Zelda missed his reaction, lost in thought as she took in this new information. "We must hurry," she said with that forced calm that Doran had watched her learn to summon when needed over the last few months. "Come with us," she added, her eyes darting back toward Link. "You must give your report to father." Then, looking back over her shoulder, she said, "Good day, Master Doran," and followed the soldier out the door.

Taking a deep breath, Link followed after her and the door closed again with another clatter of the bell.

Doran shook his head. The pattern was in motion and he knew that he would have to get himself entwined within the threads if he was to ever break the cycle. But this time, he would be weaving the pattern from the opposite side. Gall rose in his throat at the prospect, but he swallowed it along with his pride.

This turning of the wheel would be the last.


	4. Perception

**Author's Note: It's been several years now, but if you're wondering, "Why now?" you can thank the reviewer, FeatherBlade, for bringing this fic to mind. I'm not sure if I'll find the time to continue updating, but I did discover that I had this chapter waiting in the wings and decided it would be better to share it than continue holding it back. Hope you like it.**

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**Chapter Four **

**Perception  
(Namarupa)**

Doran made a point of never going near Hyrule castle. Being anywhere near the place tended to trigger painful memories and unearth the ghosts of ambitions he had thought deeply buried. He had decided around the time that he took up his new name that he would be much healthier if he kept a generous distance between himself and the center of Hyrule's power.

He could only assume that he must have finally lost his mind as he entered the castle courtyard and began ascending the broad marble steps. He kept an eye on the row of soldiers standing guard along the perimeter of the plaza, thinking that surely one of them would find reason to stop his progress, if only because of his unusual appearance. But none of them even twitched from their statuesque posture. It was no wonder that the prince had been kidnapped if this was how they guarded the palace—like men napping on their feet.

He reached the top step and the pair of mildly more attentive guards perched on either side of the entrance, but the guards made no move to stop his progress though they did regard him more closely. Doran smiled inwardly at their incompetence. If he had wished the royal family harm, he could have destroyed them all and escaped before the soldiers caught on to his intentions. Granted, that was not his intention this time, but they were fools to simply let him pass without questioning him.

Though the castle had looked as extravagant as ever from a distance, he could see upon closer inspection that the misfortune in the countryside had impacted this structure as well. The great wooden doors were poorly patched and the velvet carpet was threadbare in places, and if the great entrance hall had fallen into such disrepair, he could only imagine the state of the inner rooms.

A guard began shadowing him after he entered the hall, following him covertly from the other side of a row of marble pillars. While the gesture was an improvement in attentiveness, it was hardly worthwhile; one man was scarcely enough to stop him if he meant anyone in the audience chamber harm. Though he knew that he shouldn't provoke the soldier, he couldn't help but turn a bitter grin on the man who was trying to be so stealthy in his observation. The guard visibly trembled in response and quickly attempted to blend into the background.

While he was distracted by looking around for his comrades, Doran slipped past the guard and used a tapestry for cover as he joined a small crowd of petitioners waiting at a polite distance from the throne while the king argued openly with his daughter. Maneuvering himself to the front of the crowd, Doran tried to disentangle the royal conversation from the echoes of other conversations reverberating throughout the lofty space.

"But father, we have to do something!" Zelda cried in outrage. "Galen has been kidnapped and vile creatures are attacking the villages in the north. If we don't retaliate, they will just keep invading and destroying the countryside along the way. We have to stop them!"

Doran raised an eyebrow at Zelda's surprisingly accurate understanding of the situation, but her father only scoffed.

"There's nothing we can do," the king said gruffly. "We have already lost one village, perhaps more. We need to defend what we still have." Wringing his hands, his dark eyes cast about the chamber as if he could see enemies in the shadows waiting for a chance to strike.

Zelda's braids went flying as she shook her head. "What about Galen, then? Aren't you even going to attempt rescuing your own son?"

"You didn't see the destruction left by the men who captured him. They were frightfully powerful and our men were at a woeful disadvantage to their skill. I don't want to further enrage this enemy. No…our only choice is to wait for their terms and bargain for his life then."

"Bargain for his life?" Zelda's voice was edged with hysteria and her hands were clenched so tightly in her skirts that her knuckles were white. "So you're just going to surrender?"

"We have no choice, girl! You think you know better than me, but I'm here to tell you that you don't understand anything. We have no hope against these people."

Zelda bristled further and glanced back over her shoulder at Link who was standing uncomfortably on the step beneath her, his eyes focused on his boots. "What about the legendary Hero? Have you even given up on him?"

The king gripped the arms of his throne and glared fiercely at her. "The Hero is a fairy tale! This is our hour of need and he is nowhere to be seen. I refuse to continue placing my hope in a fantasy."

Doran had to admit that the man's words inspired the slightest bit of respect within him; unfortunately, the king was making his choice for the absolutely wrong reasons. His choice was based on desperation, not wisdom, and he was certainly doing nothing to fulfill the absent Hero's obligations himself. He was simply giving up.

"What if the Hero was real, father?" Zelda nudged Link forward, though he only gaped at her with panic in his eyes. "What if he has made his appearance precisely when we needed him, just as the ancient stories say?"

The king laughed bitterly. "This boy? Are you trying to tell me this peasant boy is the Hero we have been waiting for?"

Doran might have laughed if the king's idiocy wasn't so pathetically predictable.

"How can you say that? Look! He has the sword—the blade that was created to dispel evil!"

Shaking his head, the king replied blandly, "He has the sword, yes. The goddesses only know how he got his hands on it, but that blade proves nothing. It has no power, and without their blessing, it is nothing more than a mere sword. Do you think the true Hero would show up here with a useless weapon?!" His face red with rage, the king rose to his feet and shook his fist at Zelda. "No, daughter. That boy is no Hero and our land is already defeated. I will not entertain your childish fantasies any longer."

Turning to his steward, the king muttered, "I am feeling unwell. Tell the rest of them to come back tomorrow."

He shuffled out of the audience chamber with his daughter's rage-filled eyes burning into his back. Link stood next to her uncertainly, his expression a mixture of reluctance and shock that told Doran he hadn't been expecting Zelda to proclaim him the Hero. When the king was out of sight, Zelda spun on her heel, and the crowd around Doran shrank away instinctively as if she could throw literal daggers with her glare. He was unsurprised that her gaze found him so quickly and he simply smiled at the irony of it all.

"Master Doran," she hissed, flying across the chamber toward him with Link floating anxiously along in her wake. Snatching at Doran's sleeve, she tugged him away from the throng and into a shadowy corner. "We have to do something," she said when they were out of earshot.

"We?" Doran echoed, his smile widening.

"Yes. I need your help, and something tells me that you will be willing to give it." She looked back at Link and said earnestly, "Both of you, meet me in the courtyard in an hour. We are going on a journey, so prepare appropriately."

She gave the order as if she was already assured of their agreement, and Doran felt obligated to remind her that she was assuming far too much. "Why would I help you? I just set up shop in this town and I've done enough traveling in the last few years to last me a lifetime. I may have saved your life once, but I didn't intend to give you the impression that I would be making a habit of keeping you safe."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "You will help me because an invasion would put you in as much jeopardy as the rest of us. And you are no simple traveler. I saw the way you handled that sword. You have been trained to use it, and I have need of your experience." Lifting her chin, she added tartly, "But if you still refuse to offer your expertise, be assured that I can pay you generously for your trouble."

"You are playing a dangerous game," Doran said with a raised brow. "You do understand that a hired sword is only as loyal as the depth of his employer's purse."

Regarding him with a piercing gaze, she said softly, "You will not betray me."

Her trust was astounding and Doran had to swallow his laughter and look away sharply in order to keep his composure. But he was arguing for no reason. He knew that he had no choice but to go with her in order to fulfill his own goals.

She disappeared through a doorway without waiting for a response.

Shrugging, Doran headed back to the courtyard.

"Why do you think she said that?" Link asked softly, startling him out of his thoughts.

Considering the befuddled young man briefly, Doran wondered if Link was asking him because he thought that Doran was actually a reliable source of information on the princess's unpredictable thoughts. The fact that he was fairly good at guessing Zelda's reactions for reasons that Link would not even be able to imagine made the question all the more laughable.

"Why did she say I was the Hero?"

Avoiding the question, Doran pointed at the Master Sword perched on Link's back. "Where did you get that sword, boy?"

Link looked away sadly. "It was my father's. He died when I was young and left it to me. I didn't know it was anything so important."

"She said you were the Hero because she can sense it within you."

His brows furrowed, Link focused his utterly sincere gaze on Doran again, but said nothing, simply digesting this information. On some level, Doran felt sympathy for the way Link was always burdened with the full weight of a pathetic kingdom's hopes and dreams, but his sympathy was countered by the fact that Link always foolishly served the ungrateful bastards with no thought to his own wellbeing. He took on the burden without even considering how unfair the responsibility was and that lack of self-respect baffled Doran.

"I know what you need to do to give that sword back its power," Doran offered reluctantly. "I think that your presumptuous princess suspected as much already, and that's why she demanded my help."

Link nodded, but still remained silent, his expression downcast but determined.

"Let's get back to the shop and gather up some supplies," Doran sighed. "We'll need them where we're going."

Link nodded again and followed him as obediently as a well-trained dog.

Doran didn't know how he was going to endure the company of the two people he hated more than anyone or anything else in the world, but he could live with it better than he had lived with his inaction of recent decades. He might be miserable, but at least he would be taking an active role in his misery rather than letting it control him. That was more than the king of Hyrule could say.


End file.
